


enochlophobia

by darkmillennium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Milligan Needs a Hug, Anxiety, Banter, Drabble, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Adam Milligan, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Michael Cares About Adam More Than He'll Ever Admit, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, New Year's Eve, POV Adam Milligan, Phobias, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, me? writing a new year's fic right before june starts? it's more likely than you think, these tags are all over the place because i don't know how to fucking tag it, well emotionally hurt anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmillennium/pseuds/darkmillennium
Summary: "Just because your physical body wasn't affected doesn’t mean that your soul didn’t still age, kid,” Michael cuts him off before Adam can get into the logistics of a perfectly reasonable existential crisis. “Your years in Hell still count."Well, at least that answersoneof his questions.
Relationships: Michael & Adam Milligan, Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 155





	enochlophobia

**Author's Note:**

> listen i just wanted to write a piece about adam experiencing the new year after so long in the cage i don't know where the fuck this came from

Adam’s sitting on top of a building with his knees drawn up to his chest, his hands loosely locked together around his ankles. Below him, the crowd of Times Square roars with laughter and excitement, and neon signs light up the city so brightly that he’s almost convinced it’s still daytime.  
  
“You don’t want to join them,” Michael’s sitting down next to him, hands in his pockets, and he’s gazing at Adam with that look of easygoing curiosity he has when he’s both making an observation and asking a question all at once. Adam sighs, and sends Michael a half-smile that he’s absolutely certain isn’t convincing at all.  
  
“No. I don’t.” He turns his eyes back to the neon lights, peering at the glitter of the ball on the pole that’ll drop when the clock hits midnight of the new year. “Maybe I would’ve...before. I don’t know. But now, I just...I _can’t_.” _Not yet,_ is what he doesn’t say, but he thinks Michael hears it all the same.  
  
The entire thing is so _stupid_. He’d spent so long in the Cage missing the things he used to take for granted before he moved on and accepted his fate, and social gatherings were among them. Adam was no party animal, but he’d _liked_ being around other people. He was good with conversation, good with jokes, and he was always easily able to integrate himself into any group, no matter who they were. He’d been a people person all his life and he’d been _proud_ of that. 

But _now?_ Now that he actually had the chance to go back to some semblance of normality?

He couldn’t do it.

At least, not to the extent that he could before. Places like reasonably-filled diners and quiet shops and movie theaters— _those_ were fine. Those, he could do. But a place like this, where everything was congested and crowded and cramped and everybody was yelling and twisting around each other; where he can practically _feel_ every hot breath, every shout, every brush of skin and clothing as people bump into each other? It makes his _own_ fucking skin crawl, fire ants and spiders flooding his veins until he shudders, wrapping his arms slightly tighter around his legs as the pressure in his chest grows taut, a lump forming in his throat. He tries to swallow it down. He's grown so used to stillness, to quiet, to having _nobody_ around except Michael that the sudden influx of humanity assaulting his senses is too much; _way_ too much. 

“Do you want to leave?” Michael’s voice is low, his tone practically no different than how it normally sounds except for the slight note of concern that's entered it, but to Adam it might as well be one of the most soothing things in the world. The thought makes him huff out a pathetic excuse for a laugh, which, in turn, helps dislodge the tightness in his chest enough to let him think he's _not_ going to cry at the drop of a hat. He collects himself to a reasonable point, allows his senses to turn more inwards than outwards so that he hears the _thrum_ of Michael's power alight within him instead of the screams of the crowd, and waits until the lump in his throat dissolves to a manageable level before finally answering. 

“Nah. I wanna watch the ball go down. I’ve seen it on TV so many times, but I could never actually _visit_ this place before. I used to—” he falters, stumbling only for a moment before continuing on. “I used to tell my mom that her and I would come visit some day. She would’ve loved it. All of her friends used to tell me that she was the life of any party before she became a nurse.” _I want to see it for her._

He’s rambling, he knows. There’s nothing anyone can really say to something like that. He presses on. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked why there’s so much fuss over the start of a new year.”

“I can make a guess or two,” Michael says, after a moment, brow furrowing slightly as if in deep thought. Adam thinks that it suits him. “Hopefulness is prevalent among the festivities. For a better year, I’m assuming. People are eager for any chance to leave their worries behind them and move on.” He pauses, and then tacks on, “— _and_ they also enjoy the chance to party.”  
  
That makes Adam laugh. “It’s not _making a guess_ if you’re just tuning into everyone’s thoughts, Michael.”  
  
Michael grins back at him, looking entirely too amused to be ashamed of himself. “You caught me.”

Adam takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales, allowing the last vestiges of panic and discomfort to slowly go with it. 

“Y’know,” he says, after a couple moments, “it’s kind of funny.”

There’s silence from Michael’s side; an invitation to continue. The timer below them marks T-minus three minutes.

“Before I got dragged into this entire mess and was _eaten alive_ , it was 2009. Humanity was on the verge of a...whole new decade, I guess. Now, I’m back, I’ve missed the decade, and there’s _another_ whole new decade coming up. There’s gotta be some—some _irony_ in that, or something.”  
  
Michael tips his head, still with the quirk to his lips. “I don’t think _irony_ is quite the word you’re looking for.”

“Well—I don’t—You know what I mean!”

He chuckles at that. “I do. But from what we’ve seen concerning recent history, I...don’t suppose you would’ve wanted to be around, anyways.”  
  
Adam has to give that one to him. “Okay, yeah, fair enough. Speaking of which, since I wasn’t around, how fucking old _am_ I?”

 _That_ seems to throw Michael for a loop. “What do you mean?”

“Well, think about it. I mean, I was eighteen. My body—” he gestures at himself, “—is eighteen. But if we go by my birth year, then I’m twenty-nine. And if we go by _Hell years,_ I’m over a thousand years old. So, which one is it? All three? ‘Cause I definitely don’t act like I did when I was actually eighteen, but I feel way older than twenty-nine, but I _also_ get the feeling that a lot of twenty-nine-year-olds feel like they’re older than they are—”

"Just because your physical body wasn't affected doesn’t mean that your soul didn’t still age, kid,” Michael cuts him off before he can get into the logistics of a perfectly reasonable existential crisis. “Your years in Hell still count. So, third option. Also,” he turns to nod his head to the right, “your ball is going down.”

Adam whips his head back around to stare at the New Year’s celebrations, and, sure enough, people are counting down. The ball is lowering. Adam smiles, just a little bit. 

“Happy New Year's, halo. Here’s to hoping it won’t be as bad as the last ten years were.”

He takes pride in hearing Michael’s snort. “Sure. Happy New Year's, Adam.”

The timer hits zero, people erupt into cheers, and Adam thinks _fuck it_ and lets out a cheer of his own. He can feel affection for himself coming off of Michael in waves, and it makes him laugh. 

Maybe he can’t rejoin the ranks of humanity immediately, and that sucks. It does. But, right now, as he sees a random man in the crowd completely fail at an attempt to crowd surf and turns to Michael with a grin to point it out to him, he finds that he can’t bring himself to care. Not really.

He’ll figure out his place in the world eventually. 

They both will. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! comments are super appreciated; i see each and every one of them and they're what inspire me to keep writing, so lemme know what your thoughts are!
> 
> my tumblr is @adammilligan :) have a nice day!


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